Yesterday, finally some good weather arrived, and we went to see a friend who was about to jump off a cliff. Don’t worry though, he had some kind of parachute wing thing strapped to his back, and said it was all in the name of sport. Some people really are crazy.
Although he tried several times, the weather wasn’t really suitable for flying off a cliff, not windy enough apparently. So, we snapped a few pictures and went for a beer instead. Mr C was very interested in how much the wing cost, and how long the training took.
I knew where this line of questioning was going, and so I cut him off right there and then: “You’re not having one.”
Despite the fact that the guy we were talking to had snapped his wrist and had several operations on it, was talking about people heading out to sea, smacking into cliffs and almost drowning, or flying so high up that they started to shiver from the cold, he was still interested. Then we were told that a decent wing costs about 2 grand, so that lessened his interest just a little bit.
From my point of view, I couldn’t have one because I would get tangled in the lines – there are so many lines.
And it seems like a lot of effort if you don’t get to go up. He jumped up and down a few times, but there didn’t seem to be much reward for it. Then he spent about twenty minutes packing the whole thing away. Boring!
Anyway, we’re planning to follow him somewhere else another day and actually get some pictures of him in the air.